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Best Famous Robert Duncan Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Robert Duncan poems. This is a select list of the best famous Robert Duncan poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Robert Duncan poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Robert Duncan poems.

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by Robert Duncan | |

The Song of the Borderguard

 The man with his lion under the shed of wars
sheds his belief as if he shed tears.
The sound of words waits - a barbarian host at the borderline of sense.
The enamord guards desert their posts harkening to the lion-smell of a poem that rings in their ears.
-Dreams, a certain guard said were never designd so to re-arrange an empire.
Along about six o'clock I take out my guitar and sing to a lion who sleeps like a line of poetry in the shed of wars.
The man shedding his belief knows that the lion is not asleep, does not dream, is never asleep, is a wide-awake poem waiting like a lover for the disrobing of the guard; the beautil boundaries of the empire naked, rapt round in the smell of a lion.
(The barbarians have passt over the significant phrase) -When I was asleep, a certain guard says, a man shed his clothes as if he shed tears and appeard as a lonely lion waiting for a song under the shed-roof of wars.
I sang the song that he waited to hear, I, the Prize-Winner, the Poet Acclaimd.
Dear, Dear, Dear, Dear, I sang, believe, believe, believe, believe.
The shed of wars is splendid as the sky, houses our waiting like a pure song housing in its words the lion-smell of the beloved disrobed.
I sang: believe, believe, believe.
I the guard because of my guitar belive.
I am the certain guard, certain of the Beloved, certain of the lion, certain of the Empire.
I with my guitar.
Dear, Dear, Dear, Dear, I sing.
I, the Prize-Winner, the Poet on Guard.
The borderlines of sense in the morning light are naked as a line of poetry in a war.


by Robert Duncan | |

Often I Am Permitted to Return to a Meadow

 as if it were a scene made-up by the mind, 
that is not mine, but is a made place,

that is mine, it is so near to the heart, 
an eternal pasture folded in all thought 
so that there is a hall therein

that is a made place, created by light 
wherefrom the shadows that are forms fall.
Wherefrom fall all architectures I am I say are likenesses of the First Beloved whose flowers are flames lit to the Lady.
She it is Queen Under The Hill whose hosts are a disturbance of words within words that is a field folded.
It is only a dream of the grass blowing east against the source of the sun in an hour before the sun's going down whose secret we see in a children's game of ring a round of roses told.
Often I am permitted to return to a meadow as if it were a given property of the mind that certain bounds hold against chaos, that is a place of first permission, everlasting omen of what is.